Wilbur

Wilbur stands at his wardrobe in the corner of his personal tent. It has been quite some time since he's been in it. He normally finds himself sleeping in the tent where he plans the next steps for the war and meets with important people like his generals. It's convenient, if a bit depressing to wake up in the midst of reports of who was dying and where his enemy was moving. It allowed him to maximize every minute spent, and it saved his guards from having to constantly travel between both of the tents in the middle of the night when Wilbur would wake up from a nightmare.

The only reason he was in his own tent was because his mother insisted that he start cleaning up his appearance. He did his best to maintain hygienic habits, but it seemed that his simple outfits were a disgrace to his title. Wilbur didn't agree. In times of peace, he would have done better to wear more elaborate outfits that would show off his family's honor and how bountiful his kingdom was. It was the way of kings, and he had worn such attire when he was a child. His servants had worked very hard to make him look like a presentable prince. He was grateful for their efforts, no matter how wasted they felt when he became a king during warring times and princehood was at the back of his mind.

It was a time of war. Spending precious moments dressing and undressing in such complex costumes was pointless and tedious. Even if he wanted to wear them, he had no personal servants. Most people who worked in the castle fled the minute the war started, and he assigned everyone who remained to help around the camp instead of him specifically. In the day-to-day, he wore a plain white poet's shirt with black pants. He traded out his buckle shoes for boots that his guardsmen wore. He had started wearing a brown coat because of the dropping temperature. He wore a deep blue coat over his appearance adorned with some medallions and ribbons when he had to meet with very important guests like Grand Duke Sam and Imperial Prince Scott.

He did not share his opinion with Samantha. He was not in the mood for a debate with her. It was far more tiring to argue with her than it was to plan for the war, and he hated thinking about that every time the thought crossed his mind. His mother should not be the one making him exhausted. His mother was supposed to be the one that eased his many worries, or at least tried to. Wilbur knew that he was an adult, but he wished she would just hold his hand or press him against her chest with soft promises that it would get better and a guarantee that he was doing the best he could. Unfortunately, she did not do that, and he did not speak to her about what truly weighed on his mind.

"The soldiers have informed me that the Winter Festival will be soon. I have not noticed anyone preparing, and I did not see any plans on your desk," Samantha said as she rummaged through his wardrobe. One of the doors was opened, but the other one hung closed with a mirror hanging over it. Wilbur wanted to avoid his appearance, but this ghastly figure in front of him captivates him in the worst ways possible. He isn't ashamed of his appearance so much as he's upset he let it get this bad. He looks like he hasn't slept or ate since the war's beginning, and he knows for a fact that he hasn't. A few restless hours every night and whatever soup he can manage to hold down keeps him going, and his appearance unflinchingly shows him the curse this war has placed upon him. He can almost see the thick, dark rope tightened around his neck.

"I do not believe a festival is acceptable during these times. My army is preparing for bloody battles. My mages are working tirelessly to find a cure for the people of the Badlands. My generals are struggling to find innovative ways to bring their soldiers back home. Everyone in this camp is working far too hard on their own objectives to end this war. We simply do not have time for something as trivial as a festival to celebrate the passing from one season to the next," Wilbur informed her. He wished that his voice could be as stern as it was when he commanded soldiers. He wished it could be as soft as it was when he was talking to his new friends. He wished it was more like the voice he used when he was talking to Kristin. It was not any of these. It was shaky and weak, childlike without any innocence.

"How can you express such a sentiment with complete honesty? Did your tutors teach you nothing while I was away? The Winter Festival is more than a celebration marking the first of winter. It is a celebration of L'Manberg's independence. Our nation's beginning was filled with war. We had to struggle against Greater in order to ensure the freedom of the people. King Wilhelm and the captain of the guard, Theseus, established the festival themselves. It was a tradition that must be upheld, or else we risk people forgetting what L'Manberg stands for," Samantha explains. Wilbur grits his teeth. He already knew the story of his nation's beginning, and he knew that the festival was important. He just didn't think it was more important than ending the war as quickly as possible. They could still celebrate it when the war was over. "Our nation is going through a rebirth. We must renew the ideals of freedom through this war."

How eloquently she put it. Wilbur's hand clenched into a fist. People were dying. Families were being torn apart. Friends were having to fight against each other. The entire nation was crumbling beneath the weight of the senseless violence and Schlatt's hunger for power. There was nothing beautiful about it, nothing ornate. Even Wilbur, who loved creating poems and music in his youth, could find nothing about the blood dripping across his hands and from the hearts of his people to create lyrical prose about. It was foolish to think that this war had anything good about it. The only good thing it had done for Wilbur, he realized, was not bringing his mother back to him, but bringing his new friends to his side. He wished he could have met them under different circumstances, though. It was his war that caused Business Bay to fall. It was his war that invited enough chaos for the Crimson Enchanter to strike. It was his war that split the Church of Helianthus in half. He was ruining lives, and his mother wanted to call it a 'rebirth'.

"The festival will be good for morale. The soldiers will have something hopeful to look forward to. They will remember that they are fighting for the chance to have more festivals and for the people to experience happiness such as this again. It will also keep the nobility at bay. They are creatures far more bloodthirsty than any monster you will ever encounter. They believe you are a weak king for allowing a civil war. You must prove to them that this war is not as bad as it actually is. They will be willing to support a king who shows his strength and pacifies them in a way they understand. I am sure victory can be ensured if you could use the private armies of the nobles or some of their wealth," Samantha points out, stepping towards Wilbur with a jacket folded over her arm. It had taken her this long to find one jacket. Wilbur had many thoughts about that, but they were all overshadowed by his reaction to his mother's words. It was true that morale was falling. It had been boosted when the Antarctic Empire arrived, but it was beginning to fall again. The nobles, too, had been sketchy as of late. Some were benefitting from the war, and others were too scared to pick a side. It would be beneficial to have their support instead of their defiance.

"I will even take the responsibility of planning the festival. Usually, these duties would fall on the queen, but you are currently unwed," Samantha sighed. Wilbur finally turned to look at her as she shoved his arm through the jacket sleeve. She had disappeared when he was nearly ten, and he became king shortly after. He couldn't marry when he was that young, and his later years had been spent fixing a broken nation and trying to hold back the war. The nobles had not been pleased when the previous king died to suicide. They thought the kingdom was going to be cursed, and their paranoia subsequently caused the curse they were terrified of. Wilbur had a lot of work laid out before him, so romancing one of the eligible bachelorettes never crossed his mind. He didn't need a queen yet. If he was going to have a child, he wanted to pass on a kingdom that wasn't seconds away from falling apart.

"Do as you wish, Mother. Please know that your funds will be severely reduced. You may do what you will within that budget, however. I will not interfere nor will anyone else. This responsibility will solely fall on your shoulders," Wilbur told her, stepping away from the mirror and her hands. He pulled the jacket over his other arm without her help, keeping his eyes pinned on her. He wanted to elicit some sort of reaction, but her face remained as stoney as it was when she was a frozen statue. Wilbur felt like he was going to scream, so he exited the flap of his personal tent without paying her any attention or giving her the proper respect.

The cold air wrapped around him, and he was somewhat grateful for the thick jacket Samantha had picked out for him. Wilbur sighed deeply. His arms wrapped around himself as he walked from his private tent sequestered in the far corner of the ravine to the main encampment. He feels the presence of his guard following behind him, but he also senses someone else nearby. He looks up, his steps falling short. Worry flickers across his face until he recognizes the elven face of Shrub rushing towards him, wearing a fear-lined yellow coat over her clothing. She's smiling brightly at him. When she reaches him, she bows. It is a lot better than what she did when they first met, but Wilbur smiled at the small mistakes he noticed. She still hadn't been completely corrupted. "Greetings, King Wilbur of L'Manberg, the everlasting song. You have my gratitude for waiting for me. If it should please you, shall I join you on your walk?"

Wilbur had been planning to return to the tactician tent, but he supposed that some fresh air and exercise were long overdue. He wanted to erase some of the sadness that clung to his reflection, and Shrub was one of the easiest people to get along with. She was effortlessly king and unbothered by respectful notions. "It would please me greatly if you walked with me."

Shrub straightened up, walking towards him with a bouncy skip in her step. She walked side-by-side with him instead of falling a step behind like most would. She acknowledged Wilbur's guard, waving at the man and receiving a wave in response when he thought Wilbur's attention was preoccupied with something else. Wilbur felt a smile tug on his lips as he thought of a funny joke. "Shrub, my mother seems insistent that I find myself a queen. Perhaps the two of us should get married."

Shrub stares at him for a long moment before she giggles, trying to hide her amusement behind her hands. Wilbur laughs alongside her, something he hasn't done in a long time. His happiness fills him up like water in a pitcher, and he can't help the way his laughter crescendos, echoing against the stone walls of the ravine. Shrub nudges her elbow into his side with a breathless smile pinned on her face. "Oh, I can only imagine how that would turn out. So many rumors would spread about us: 'Look, there's the mad king who was bewitched by that Fae girl', 'there goes the muddy queen', 'I can't believe the king has gone off the deep end'."

Wilbur's laughter continues as she jokes around, painting the exact picture that came to Wilbur's head. Shrub would be the farthest thing from a proper queen. She would constantly be hanging out with her wolf friends or planting in the garden. She wouldn't know the correct way to speak with anyone. Because of her inhuman nature, the nobles and peasants would believe she has used glamour to ensnare Wilbur in her trap. Even if they suspected foul play would be involved, they would still find someone to pin the blame on Wilbur. It would be a horrible situation should it actually come to pass, so Wilbur was glad they were both joking.

The two of them stop laughing when they hear metal crash against metal. Wilbur and Shrub turn to the training grounds. Phil and Techno are practicing against one another with dull metal swords. Wilbur can tell that Phil is holding back and he assumes that Techno is, too, but he's still astounded by how powerful they both are. Wilbur has seen Phil fight before, and if Techno is anything like the rumors, he wonders how they haven't won the war already with these two on their side.

Niki is there as well, standing near the weapon's rack with a thoughtful expression on her face. Her daggers are sheathed at her side, and Wilbur realizes that Phil and Techno are giving her a demonstration. She might not have a reputation like the other two or the same prowess, but Wilbur has seen her practicing during the night when he has needed fresh air. With a few more years of practice, he has no doubt that she'll be one of the strongest warriors in the entire land.

"Whoa! Look at them go!" Shrub said with stars glittering in her eyes. She clasps her gloved hands together over her chest, almost like she's praying. Her smile grows wider in childish reverence. She reminds Wilbur of a child meeting their hero for the first time. He knows from experience that meeting one's hero is not always so happy, but he likes to think that most people will look how Shrub looks now.

"Why do you admire them so much?" Wilbur innocently asks. He could probably believe that Shrub has heard of Phil, but he doesn't know why she's just as excited to see Techno. The rumors of the Blade can't be that widespread, can it?

Shrub turns to him with a red tint to her cheeks, but her smile doesn't disappear as she unclasps her hands. She uses her hand to help her communicate her point. "How can I not be consumed with admiration? I have seen all three of them fight before, and I've heard stories about them. Niki is like the deadly siren that draws sailors to their deaths, except her songs are more akin to the ballads of bloodshed. The great Philza is known to nearly everyone in the Wildlands. He was born an avian, one of the weakest subspecies of Fae. Apparently, he had been abandoned by his parents and left in the Goblands to die. Instead of dying, he grew strong enough that he received the recognition of the Goblin King. The king bestowed Philza with a title: the Angel of Death. It's a reference to how the goddess of death created angels to help her take souls. In the Undergrove and the Goblands, we worship the goddess of death. We sometimes call her Mumza because everyone, no matter who they are or what they've done, will return to her comforting embrace."

Wilbur is about to ask about the '-za' suffix that is also on Phil's name, but Shrub turns back to the training grounds. "And the Blade, Techno. I once met someone who admired him, and they told me all sorts of stories about him. I thought they were crazy or delusional, but I've seen him in action. Some of the stories she told me must be true. And if they are true... he's someone worthy of everyone's respect. She told me a lot of stories actually, but I'm pretty sure the Blade is the only one still alive. I wish I could have met them all, but I'm very happy that I got to meet at least one."

Wilbur ponders her answers as they start walking again. Shrub lingers slightly, but she doesn't let Wilbur get too far ahead of her. She grins merrily at him as he tries to figure out who told Shrub stories, what those stories entailed, and who the other people were. As far as Wilbur knows, the legends about the Blade don't usually mention anyone else except the two gods he devotes all his success to.

"Boomer!" Shrub calls out, rushing ahead of Wilbur to wrap her arms around an unsuspecting person. The person returns the hug, however, and Wilbur recognizes the two people Shrub unintentionally snuck up on. The one Wilbur immediately knows is Grand Duke Sam of the Badlands. They had met on more than one occasion, so it would be rude for Wilbur to forget his appearance so soon. The other, then, must be Boomer, Sam's only son and second child. Boomer is wearing a thick white jacket with silver trimmings and white pants. He has pale skin with frosty white hair and silver eyes. The only splash of color on him was the green hat perched on his head with a wide brim covered in pink flowers and what looked like a sewn doodle of a frog.

"Greetings, your majesty, the everlasting song of L'Manberg. I believe his majesty has not been introduced to my son, Boomer," Sam said, bowing down. Boomer followed his lead, and Shrub looked slightly awkward as she leaned down alongside them.

Wilbur resisted the urge to laugh as he called out, "Please rise. It is an honor to meet you, Boomer. Your father has told me many wonderful things about you, and anyone who is a friend of Shrub is a friend of mine."

"Thank you, your majesty, but the honor is all mine. This might be presumptuous of me, but I greatly admire his majesty. As a king, his majesty has done the best for his kingdom. That is something that I must honor, even if all I can offer is kind words and my sword," Boomer said with a smile on his face. It reminded Wilbur of Shrub in some ways. It was in the innocence, Wilbur decided. It was how they both seemed to adore nature and saw the beauty in things that most people would consider disgusting or fearful. Wilbur wished there were more people like these two, but he supposed that if there were, there would be more people who would have their innocence stolen and their beliefs shattered.

"Thank you," Wilbur responded, hearing the emotions growing thick in his voice. He turned to Sam, hoping to avoid Boomer's eyes. He did not want to unpack all of that and deal with it in public. He would save it for later. "Grand Duke Sam, do we have any updates on the warfront concerning your daughter?"

Boomer's face falls, and Shrub reassuringly grabs his hand. Sam looks down slightly, and Wilbur can see the slight twitch in his fist. He wishes they didn't have to discuss this sort of thing, but they did. "I believe I have a few leads regarding where she will show up next. It seems that she is no longer being used simply as a weapon. They are using her powers to activate ancient mechanisms. I will be heading out tomorrow to investigate one of these. I have found out more information concerning the Crimson Enchanter. They do not work alone nor are they the one in charge. The enchanter works for someone who calls himself the Red King. The only other person I know who works with him is the Scarlet Woodsmen."

"This is definitely important information. The dowager queen, Samantha, was certain that Schlatt was not working alone nor on his own interests. He was being pushed by someone else. I did not have enough proof to believe her assumption at the time, but it seems likely that the Red King is pushing for this war. We have to understand why. I trust that you will share any information you find out with me," Wilbur said. He hadn't thought that she had been right. He wanted Schlatt to be his only enemy, but it seemed this war was far greater in scale than he first realized. He felt extremely naive, but it wasn't the time to dwell on such mistakes.

"Of course. Your majesty will be the first one to know," Sam told him. Wilbur nodded gratefully, and Sam bowed down to him. Boomer and Shrub gave each other a goodbye hug before they parted ways, Boomer remaining with his father and Shrub walking alongside Wilbur once more.

Wilbur stopped when he heard the voice of James Marriott. He turns his attention to a tent with an open flap. Marriott is standing at the front of the tent. He leaned against a desk with a book in his hands. Kristin, Tommy, and Ranboo sat at a table. They were working on some papers. Tubbo leaned down at the table as well, pointing at different things on Ranboo's paper with a serious look on his face. Tubbo was talking, but his words were too quiet for Wilbur to make them out. He couldn't make out what Ranboo's responses were, or what Kristin and Tommy were whispering about with mischievous glints in their eyes. Marriott rolled his eyes at them, lowering the book down. Wilbur smiled, ready to call out to them when he realized that Shrub was stiffening next to him. She looked inside the tent, her panicked gaze frozen on Marriott. The teacher looked over, smiling at Wilbur and even at Shrub. She didn't return his smile, instead looking at Wilbur. "I... I, um... well, you see, I forgot... to do something... I should go do that now."

Shrub rushed off. She was gone before Wilbur could grab her arm or call out to her. He could only watch her go as Mariott came up to him with a bright smile on his face. Wilbur wanted to call out Shrub's odd behavior, but Marriott didn't seem to notice her sudden departure. "Greetings, your majesty. If it pleases you, I would like to give you the report."

Wilbur slowly nods his head, his attention split between Marriott and Shrub. "All three students are advancing accordingly in their studies. Ranboo writes down everything in notebooks, and he even carries around a special one for the most important information. Although he is usually a troublemaker, Tommy is fairly intelligent. Kristin is by far the best considering she just soaks up information. It's almost like she already knew all of this and just needed a refresher. Her and Tommy are exceptionally well at learning history. It astounds me every time. I know you didn't ask me to teach him, but I must praise Tubbo, as well. He has a genius-level intellect. He is amazing at building and programming with redstone."

Redstone was a mineral that could absorb magic. Depending on what type of magic it absorbed, the redstone had a wide variety of effects. Most builders had found ways to make automated lights or moving contraptions with it. Wilbur knew that most of the nobles in his court used redstone devices, but he could never bring himself to upgrade the palace with it. He refused to have any of the special lamps in his tent.

"This is good. I'm grateful again, Professor Marriott," Wilbur responded.

"Don't be grateful yet. The only thing missing from giving these children a well-rounded education is someone who can teach them potions or magic. I'm sure they have an affinity for it. Tommy and Kristin already possess abilities similar in nature to magic. Ranboo could definitely unlock the Ender Thaumaturgy. Tubbo might have some affinity, though I can't make assumptions," Marriott explained.

Wilbur resisted the urge to shudder. Vomit nearly filled his mouth as he thought about the heinous word that had been uttered in his presence. He couldn't stand thinking about magic, let alone talking about it or, gods forbid, someone using it. Wilbur took a steadying breath, hiding his shaking hands behind his back. "I wonder who could do such a thing."

"I do not understand your pondering, your majesty. Could you not just ask Shubble?" Marriott asks with a confused look in his eyes. Wilbur stares back at him, just as confused. He doesn't know who 'Shubble' is or why they would teach three random kids magic if Wilbur was the one to ask.

"What do you mean, Professor Marriott?" Wilbur asked.

"The woman you were just with. Her name is Shubble. She is a top student at Kinoko Scholar's Academia. She receives high grades in the Alchemy department, and there is no one who could outdo her in golem creation. Well... she was a top student until she was expelled for unknown reasons."